


The Vashoth and the Qunari

by ChocoChipBiscuit



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dirty Talk, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Knotting, Oral Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 11:23:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1939173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/pseuds/ChocoChipBiscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inquisitor Adaar never had a kossith lover before, and Iron Bull aims to change that.</p><p>Edited 7/13/14: Fixed a typo regarding consent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Vashoth and the Qunari

“So I hear you’re a virgin.”

She chokes on a chunk of lamb and stares at Iron Bull. She even forgets to do the habitual shoulder slump, but then again…

Living among humans, elves, and the occasional dwarf—essentially, everyone _except_ other kossith—she’s always been keenly aware of how big she is. Being tall and strong is a comfort, bringing her power and reach in battle, but she’s always taller— _much_ taller—than any potential partner.

Until now.

But it’s _Bull_ , and her stomach knots at the thought. Is this how past lovers had felt, looking at her?

“You are misinformed,” she finally says, unswallowing her tongue. Figures that when she finally meets a good-looking one that’s taller than her (and admittedly, the fact he walks around shirtless after their practice bouts is a _very_ nice bonus), he’s Qunari. A very lapsed follower, but still.

She’s _not_ Qunari, despite the horns on her head and the cast of her skin. There are so many differences between them, and even if she believes the Chant to be merely a pretty song, she holds more in common with the Andrastians she grew up among than this mountain of a man before her. There is comfort in the familiarity.

There is no comfort in the way Iron Bull looks at her, all heat and desire, and she _knows_ he’ll hop into bed with just about anyone but it’s still _nice_ coming from someone she wouldn’t have to worry about squeezing too tight or biting too hard, not like the last one…

He grins, and it’s like the entirety of summer—sweet sunshine flavored wine, the rich scent of hay and smoky bonfires where she’d steal away with the other young men and women, where there’d be kissing and singing and maybe, if she was lucky, a little more than kissing—packed tight and punched into her gut.

“You may have had sex, but never with another kossith,” he clarifies. “That means you are still a virgin.” He looks so smug with his crooked smile and casually crossed arms that she wants to hide in embarrassment. Or possibly backhand him, wiping that knowing leer off his face. Except that if it devolves into hand to hand fighting, she knows being that close to him might lead to an entirely different sort of wrestling.

She’s staring at his shoulders.

Forget ‘might,’ it _definitely_ would.

“That’s a very self-centered way to look at it.”

“No, it’s a realistic way,” he argues. With a flourish and abbreviated bow, he adds, “I am, of course, offering my services to correct this grievous thing.” She just _looks_ at him, standing tall and unbowed, and fleetingly wonders if she would be less crumpled if she had been raised among her own kind.

Then again, she would not have been allowed to train as a fighter.

He leans in, just a bit closer, and he smells of primal musk, her nose flaring at the scent. She wants to seize his shirts and roll them up and sleep on them all night, but _oh_ he doesn’t wear shirts too often, and that makes the view even better even if it deprives her of another outlet for her frustration.

But she’s the Inquisitor now, not some little farmer’s daughter desperate for the smallest scrap of attention from someone who doesn’t flinch at the sight of her.

“How noble,” she says, trying to be dry and unimpressed, mimicking how Cassandra does it. Now _that’s_ a woman comfortable in her own skin, and she envies the Seeker’s self-assurance.

“You will love it,” he promises. And she _believes_ him, she’s seen the way the tavern women giggle the next morning even as they walk bow-legged, but she’s supposed to be _dignified_.

“Let’s not.”

 

* * *

 

 

So when he shows up in her quarters the next night with a—is that a _picnic basket_? He looks ridiculous with that tiny thing, and he holds a—is that a _bouquet_?

Trying not to stammer, she quips “Looking to satisfy a demand of your Qun?”

He laughs at least, offering her the clump of flowers. Small things, Andraste’s Grace and sweet fern, and she can’t resist a greedy sniff, the fragrance wafting over her like fine perfume. “Well, Vashoth, do I make you swoon for the Qun?”

“Not converting today, sorry.” Frowning, she tries to press the flowers back into his hand. “And I never said ‘yes’ to you.”

“You are a virgin, and you are Vashoth. _Basalit-an_ , for all purposes,” he says quietly, and she wonders if this is how Varric feels with the dwarves from the deep, speaking with someone who might wear the same skin but so far apart in culture. Even _Varric_ knows more of the Qun and the language than she does. “So. I will court you as the _bas_ do. I brought wine and little cakes.”

“You are not bribing your way up my skirts,” she protests, even as her stomach growls.

He laughs, deep and rich like a sun-kissed plum. “Not bribing into your skirts, Inquisitor. Bribing for a _chance_ to get into your skirts. A very important distinction.”

For all his swagger, despite his boisterous vulgarity and the way her heart hammers up her throat when he grins at her… she wants him. It is a physical thing, nothing to do with _him_ per se and perhaps if she had encountered another kossith she would be feeling the same thing. But she already knows her decision as she steps aside, a sharp-toothed smile on her lips.

“Those better be _good_ cakes.”

“Dorian assures me they are excellent.”  He lays out a checked cloth, just as if they are having a true picnic outdoors, and sits cross-legged on the floor. She sits beside him, straight-backed and marveling at how he still looms over her. With a dainty pinky extended—and she laughs, recognizing the way he’s mimicking Vivienne—he pours pale wine into two glasses. Then the little cakes, tiny circles of moist crumb and strawberries wrapped in pink handkerchiefs that makes her snort.

Iron Bull raises an eyebrow. “What amuses you so, Inquisitor?”

“Your taste in decorations.”

Bull shrugs, raising his glass. “I am not a man to be embarrassed by fine things.” Winking broadly, he adds, “I rather like pink. It looks like a lady’s—“

“ _Bull_.”

“—tongue,” he continues smoothly. “Especially when she bites her tongue just a bit and sticks it out while embarrassed.”

Curse that man. She is doing exactly that, and quickly schools her face to an angry scowl that fails to fool him.

“So. A toast then, Lady Inquisitor?”

“To what?”

“To the success of the Inquisition.”

She raises an eyebrow, glass clinking before she takes a small sip. Never would have thought Bull for a wine drinker, but this is excellent; sweet and crisp, with citrus undertones and a jammy finish. “A remarkably practical toast.”

“Then what do you suggest we toast to, Inquisitor?”

Frowning, she shakes her head. “Why do you insist on calling me ‘Inquisitor’ all the time? It is a rank, not a name.”

“As ‘Adaar’ you are a weapon, Lady Inquisitor. And you are much more than that.”

“So what am I?” she challenges.

Bull grins crookedly, leaning forward so his elbows rest on his knees. “Our leader. An answer. A great many things to a great many people.” His voice slows, and he wets his lips with more wine. “Perhaps a lover.”

She nibbles slowly at her cake, one hand cupped to catch stray crumbs. “Perhaps.”

They talk of idle things, gossiping to while away the time as the bottle empties. Soon the sweets are gone, leaving only a smear of red jam against Bull’s mouth and impulsively, Adaar leans in to lick it. Her tongue meets his flesh and he wraps his arm around her, leaning back and pulling her into his lap so she awkwardly puts her knee to the side, trying not to jab him in the groin—and then that means she’s straddling his lap, suddenly so _close_ and far more intimate than she’d intended as her skirt rides up.

“Do you use birthbane?” he asks, breath-heat stirring the fine hairs on the back of her neck as he rests his hand over her exposed calf.

Groaning, she replies, “Better. Charm.” She taps a finger against the contraceptive talisman about her neck. Not that she’d needed it with any of her previous lovers, but… perhaps she’d known she’d end up in bed—or on the floor, as the case may be—with Bull from the moment she saw him.

“Good.” He brushes her knee, stroking down to the curve of her foot and growing low in his throat. “Would you like to get to the bed?” At her nod, he hooks one hand under her rump, and she tries not to squeal as his fingers press _there_ , but his sly squeeze reveals he knows exactly what that hot patch of flesh is. His other hand pushes him from the floor, and he stands upright, stumbling to the bed in a show of strength rather than grace before depositing her on her back with her skirt falling around her waist.

“Careful with the horns,” she cautions, remembering how she used to impale her pillows as a child.

He unbuttons her blouse with surprisingly deft hands, tracing a wet tongue and sharp teeth along her collar. “I will be,” he promises, and then— _oh…_

No one had _ever_ stroked her horns like this, gentle at the base and massaging against her skull. Her eyes flutter shut as she releases a loud moan, too caught in the pleasure to be embarrassed at her easy reaction. The callused pads of his fingers apply firm pressure while he works his way up her neck, using just the faintest bite to make her shiver as he pauses over the pulse of her throat before kissing her ear, murmuring, “Lady Inquisitor, may I undress you?”

“Haven’t you already started?” she asks, tongue heavy as she butts her head against his hand, trying to encourage more of that wonderful touching.

“Started, but not finished. I want to get you completely naked.”

Cracking her eyelids open, she ventures, “You know, you are much—“

“—gentler than you’d thought?” he finishes. His eyebrow lifts. “You are not the only one accustomed to moving among the smaller races.” His lips curl, and he presses them against her cheek, breath rasping hot over her skin. “And you are a virgin.” She cannot even muster the energy to swat him at this point.

So working together, they work her clothing off—blouse and breast band tossed carelessly aside to hit the floor. Then her skirt, the material catching against her ankle before Bull growls, and that too falls off the bed. He moves more carefully against her underwear, hooking his thumbs under the band and easing them off her hips, pausing to sniff deeply before reverentially setting them aside.

“If you like the smell, go for the source.” Adaar can’t restrain the bite in her voice, spreading her knees wide and licking her finger. “Or if you don’t know what to do…”

“Oh I _do_ ,” he hisses, bumping her hand aside with his horns and pressing his nose against her pubic mound. His inhalation tickles the fine hairs over her vulva, and his tongue traces across her labia, one thumb gathering moisture from her folds before slipping lower.

Feeling him probe against that untried opening, she pushes her self away on her elbows. “No.”

Immediately acquiescing, he laps at her pussy with broad strokes, circling about her with his tongue flat and soft, making her moan, hooking one knee over his shoulder and grinding against his face. Biting her lip to keep from more noises causes him to look up, his eye gleaming devilishly from between her thighs. Even his eyepatch seems to be smirking at her. “Inquisitor, I _like_ hearing you make noise. Please don’t stop on my account.”

Reaching down to grip his horns, she steers him back into position. “Then don’t _stop_.” He laps at her again as she runs her grip down, starting to stroke the base just as he did hers. His delighted moan echoes against her loins, wicked resonance thrumming through her as she hisses past her teeth, legs tightening about his shoulders but he continues bearing down, changing from broad slow licks to rapid flicks of his tongue until her scream echoes through the bedchamber.

He kisses her inner thigh with slick lips, and then gracefully nudges her leg aside so he can stand. She watches him briskly strip, enchanted by the way the light plays across his exposed form. The planes of his chest and rippling shoulders, his muscular thighs and the thin scars adorning him, battle souvenirs that she wants to explore with her tongue.

And that _cock_. Adaar never thought of herself as what Sera laughingly calls a ‘size queen,’ but _egads_. That thing is _enormous_ , and her expression must be clear since Bull chuckles, “And _that’s_  another reason they call me the Bull.”

“You are full of _rubbish_.” Kneeling on the bed, she leans forward to squeeze her hand about his shaft, pressing her tongue against the sensitive underside. He eagerly thrusts forward, cock sliding to the back of her throat as she gives a startled ‘gack,’ involuntary closing her jaw, but he backs away just in time before she nicks him with her teeth. When she apologizes, he interrupts with a groan.

“Hush, _kadan._ Mine was the fault.”

She wants to ask what the word means, but he cups her horns again, kissing her ear and gently leaning back on the bed. The blankets bunch against her as she squirms beneath him, clutching the covers with one hand in an effort to brace herself. She feels his erection press against her belly, and gulps at the thought of Bull pressing her into the mattress.

“Hold on. I want to be on top.” Bites his shoulder, gratified to hear his breath catch. “Might as well ride this bull.”

“You are a demanding woman, Lady Inquisitor.” But he rolls off her, resting his head on her pillow. His horns are nearly as broad as the bed, and she wonders how on earth there’s be enough room for _her_ if he stays the night… but those are worries for another time. So she straddles his belly, rubbing her wetness against his skin until he grips her hips, lifting her so that she slides against his cock. With a sigh, she eases herself down, breath hitching as he bumps against her opening before sliding in smoothly. Iron Bull chuckles at the lack of resistance, murmuring “Eager, Inquisitor?”

“ _No,_ of course not,” she groans, fixing him with a mock glare. “I only have sex unwillingly and infrequently.”

His lips go against her shoulder, biting—and she arches back, squirming out of reach as she sits up to ride him. One hand reaches up to play with her breasts, cupping them and pinching the nipple between two fingers. At her soft ‘mm’ he chuckles. “Now who’s full of rubbish?”

Smirking, she squeezes with her thighs, craning her neck to marvel at the way they fit together. His flesh in hers, her lower lips puffy about his erection, stretching sweet and erotic… oh, this image is _definitely_ one to savor. A glance upward catches him watching her, seeming entranced by her own fascination.

Rather than answer his rhetorical question, she wraps her fingers about his wrist, guiding him to the junction of her legs. His thumb presses over her still-wet clit, smearing juices across her skin as she slides down. A gasp, and “no, not so firm” and the pressure eases so that he’s just lightly tickling against the sensitive bud. Rocking slowly on her knees allows her to savor the building sensation, the heat and pressure of him inside her, paired with the hand on her breast and that gentle clit stimulation… warmth crackles through her like a building flame, heat traveling from her groin and tingling through her toes, her arms, her fingers as she screams out in orgasm…

…and feels, impossibly, Bull swelling _even more_ inside her, tight and near painful as she tries to slide off him. Trapped by the mysterious knot, she digs her hands into his shoulders, nails biting flesh as she hisses in frustration. “ _Bull_. What’s happening?” Her panicked eyes reflect in his as he gazes up at her.

“ _Kadan_. We are kossith,” he soothes, pulling his hand from her groin and stroking the base of her horns in a conciliatory gesture. She growls, baring teeth but still locked with him despite her best efforts to twist away. Her walls squeeze about him even as she tries to forcibly relax, Bull murmuring soft words of explanation. “It is natural. Once I come, then it will release.”

She glares down at him, hair plastered to her scalp as she chokes out, “And you didn’t warn me _before_?”

“The fault is mine, Inquisitor.” And his fingers trace small circles about her horns, but she refuses to be gentled even as she wants to purr against his hands. Instead, she leans forward to butt her forehead against his, gritting her teeth. But the angry head-butt fails to meet as the knot pulls at her, pinning her in place while she moans at the insistent pressure. “And my release will only come after you peak again.” He turns his head, horns pressing dents into the pillow as he kisses her wrist, flicking his tongue over fine veins just below her palm as her grip relaxes.

“How do you— _oh_ ,” she gasps, profanity tumbling as he starts rocking his hips in a swaying motion rather than vigorous thrusting. A very different sensation, but it makes her feel wonderfully full as his flesh grinds against hers. With her chest pressed against his and both of them slick with sweat, the hand over her breast becomes an awkward impediment, so he shifts to cupping her buttocks, lightly slapping his fingers against her as her faces colors in embarrassment.

He grins at her, murmuring, “May I spank you a bit…?”

And this is so _new_ , new and terrifying in so many ways, but her body melts at the thought and her thighs squeeze just a bit tighter. Her answer must be so obvious, even without words, but he waits for her frantic nod and stuttering ‘yes’ before pulling his hand back, slapping against the curve of her ass as she keens wildly. Elbows bent against him, and they _must_ be digging into his torso even if he’s not complaining, but he’s stroking her horns again and _oh_ she loves it, and each sharp spank is too light to truly hurt, just enough to jolt her skin awake, every nerve ending screaming for more stimulation as he alternates between echoing slaps and warm caresses, his palms rubbing the sensitive flesh as if to erase the burn…

...and she’s coming again, muffling her cries against his chest as her body contracts about him. A hot flush spurts within her, and she can _feel_ his semen spattering against her walls, so she frantically thumbs her contraceptive charm just to remind herself that it’s still there. But despite his release, she can still feel the knot inside, blocking his seed from escaping.

“You said we would unlock after you came.” She hates how weak and pathetic her voice sounds.

Bull looks up at her with a soft smile. “Are you so eager to be rid of me, Inquisitor?” It’s his usual frustrating expression of good humor and uncanny knowing, made especially enticing by the flush on his cheeks, but his gaze is guarded.

“No,” she admits. “But I hate not knowing what to expect.” The bitterness laces her words like poison, but she can’t hold it back even knowing Iron Bull may well be feeling wounded.

“I will have to climax several times before we release.” He kisses her palm, nuzzling his lips over the lines as if reading her fortune. “And there are more ways to pleasure you, _kadan_. Allow me…?” He traces a broad finger down the dip at the base of her spine, then in the small line between her cheeks as he returns to her virginal ring.

Earlier it had seemed like such a strange thing, something hesitant and fearful—but there is so much new with Bull, so much newer than what she originally thought—so she nods, whispering, “Be gentle.”

The fleshy pad presses against her sphincter, simply pushing as she swivels her hips in small, circular motions on top of his cock. Moaning, she feels herself start to stretch to accommodate him, the digit slipping in to the first joint before her body clamps about him, denying further entry. But that’s enough, that extra bit of stimulation as she rocks against him, feeling unspeakably _dirty_ but that’s part of the reason it feels so good, an obscene secret between the two of them. When she closes her eyes, she fantasizes about that finger being something thicker, longer—maybe if she bent over a table with Bull behind her, glistening and lubricated as he presses into her…

“You are a _dirty_ woman, Inquisitor,” Bull groans, feeling her tighten. “Such a filthy Vashoth. I’ve wanted to fuck you from the moment I saw you.”

She cracks her eyes open, chuckling. “Who _don’t_ you want, Bull?”

“Hush, _basalit-an_ ,” he reproaches. “I am trying to talk dirty.”

Pressing a hand into his shoulder, she reaches up to grip the base of his horns, gratified by his startled gasp. With more conviction than she truly feels, she growls, “And I’ve wanted to fuck _you_ , Bull. It’s rare to meet a man I can ride to my satisfaction.” Her thumb traces against the sensitive scalp surrounding those horns, mimicking his trick from earlier. This might be new, but she learns quickly. “And I don’t have to worry about breaking you in half. So since we’re stuck together—“ Her breath wafts hot against his neck, his finger curling inside her and crooking up as she continues rocking around him. “—give me your best. Hard and rough.”

And oh, she _wants_ him, even though she quivers in terror and anticipation at his wicked grin. He sits up, twining his arm around her shoulders to grip her hair. Her head tilts back as he pulls, back arching to offer him her vulnerable throat. Setting on her with lips and teeth, eliciting gasps and moans as another finger presses against her anus, sliding in…

This third orgasm is even harder, body spasming about him so tightly that he groans “ _kadan_ , you will bruise my cock!” while another sticky load releases inside. She feels as if she might be sloshing when she tilts to the side, semen still trapped by his formidable knot.

“That’s _your_ problem, then.”

Her smirk reignites his fire, the boisterousness that both draws and intimidates her. “Well then. I will _make_ it your problem.” Pulling her hair, dipping her head so she is forced to make eye contact, he growls, “I am going to fuck you until you can’t walk.” A thrust of his hips, echo-birthing force as their hips slap together and he bottoms out because even if he can’t leave her, he can still go deeper. She’s never felt this sort of depth before, dull pain and throbbing sensation, but it only adds to the intensity. And masochism suits her more than she thought; she _likes_ that little bit of pain, wondering if she can handle even more of it. Or what it would be like to be pulled over his knee and spanked cherry-red in warm-up for another session… but his harsh words pull her back from that dirty fantasy.

“I am going to fuck you until you can’t _breathe._ ” And breathing does hurt, gasping as she struggles to stay on top of this roaring fire. “Until you can’t even _think_.” Thinking is hard too, thoughts fuzzy and warm, slipping over one another like half-forgotten dreams because this is pure _sensation_ , and her conscious mind has nothing to do with it. “Until you admit that you _were_ a virgin before this.”

And that’s the last trigger, screaming his name with his cock firmly knotted inside her and two fingers thrusting in her ass and _fuck_ they’re deeper than she remembers, somehow having slid their way all the way to the knuckle and the world is just spinning before her, dizzying and too bright as she comes and comes and _comes…!_

Iron Bull roars too, broken words of qunlat that she doesn’t understand, his body releasing one last spurt before she feels the knot relax. Adaar immediately slips off his cock, but straddles him wide and rests her head against his shoulder rather than slide off his body. His heartbeat drums against her ears as she nuzzles close, feeling their mingled fluids drip out of her in a sticky puddle.

He is still swearing—or possibly praying—in qunlat as she nips one pointed ear. “That good?”

“ _Kadan_ , that was amazing.” Bull lays back with his eye closed, hands limp and relaxed around her in a possessive grip. “And you seemed to enjoy yourself too…”

She snorts, burying her face against his shoulder. “You were right. It’s very different with another kossith.” A moment of hesitancy, then, “How do you explain that to other lovers?”

“Is this a conversation you wish to have?”

He sounds so uncharacteristically restrained that she pushes herself up, hair spilling over her face to shroud them from the rest of the world. Eyes firmly locked on his, she says, “I would not have asked if I did not want to know.”

Bull twitches his lips, chuckling. “Fine. It does not work this way with others. There is still swelling, yes, but it does not—something about the scent, I think.” A dry smile. “I am an embarrassment to the Qun, after all. It is not something officially studied.” He groans, shifting beneath her, but stops her with a squeeze when she starts rolling off. “No, I like you there. It just tickles. The fluid.”

“Most of that’s you,” she points out, wadding a handful of the coverlet to dab at their mingled juices. A token effort, since even more trickles past her sticky thighs as she shifts position.

“Nonetheless.” His fingers trace across her spine, connecting the droplets of sweat beading her back. “So. Have I ruined you for other lovers?” The playful banter is back, so she blows a raspberry at him, cool air tickling his chin.

“Not at all. I’ve learned a few things.” Many things—many new things she never thought she’d like, some things she fancies would work just as well with a non-kossith—and some disquieting ones. Iron Bull may be a fantastic ride, but at the end of the Inquisition… She chases her thoughts away from that path, shooing nightmares from her waking mind. “You best be leaving though.”

“Lady Inquisitor?” He blinks at her, startled as she breaks free of his arms, sitting up and stretching her arms overhead in clear acknowledgment that they are done.

“Bull. You are a trusted companion, but as you say—I am the Inquisitor. Even if _we_ know this is just for mutual pleasure, like your barmaids,” and his eyes narrow at that sting, but she presses on anyway, “others may not be so understanding. And I would rather not jeopardize any potential alliances any more than I already have simply by being kossith.” Her eyes meet his, and Andraste’s _tits_ but this hurts. But like pulling an arrow from a wound, the momentary pain will allow faster recovery. “I am Vashoth. And you are Qunari, as you have pointed out. We each have roles to play. For the success of the Inquisition.”

He simply stares at her, face studiously blank and schooled to neutrality. “Understood, _kadan_.” It takes him longer to get dressed than it did to strip, but she allows herself to watch him as he fastens his kilt, muscles rippling like an artist’s dream as he gathers the remnants of their picnic. Gaze locking with hers, he casually plucks her discarded panties from the bed, slipping them into his basket. It hurts, it does, but before she can open her mouth to revoke her dismissal, he grins at her, all sharp teeth and savage humor.

“Goodnight, Lady Inquisitor.”

The door shuts behind him, leaving her alone in the still-warm bed, fragrant with sex and loneliness. Curling on her side, she wallows in his scent until sleep takes her.

**Author's Note:**

> Sad ending in an effort to armor my heart should the romance go sour. Let's see how horribly OOC/non-canonical this all ends up being once the game actually comes out, eh?
> 
>  
> 
> [Extended author's notes at tumblr.](http://chocochipbiscuit.tumblr.com/post/91617317210/authors-notes-the-vashoth-and-the-qunari)


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